focus on my hearing, searching for some source of help, the sound of other cars, people, anything, but I’m met with silence. The only smell I can detect outside of Drake’s cologne is dirt.
We slow and I’m tapped on the shoulder. “We’re here.” Drake helps to push me up and brushes against my knees as he climbs out in front of me. “Here.” He grabs my biceps to lead me out.
My head swims. Lack of food and getting up too quickly throw me off balance. My bare foot catches. I tumble forward, the gag preventing me from calling out. My shoulder slams against something sharp. Pain splinters down my arm.
“Fuck.” Drake scoops under my arms, twisting me at an odd angle to pull me free of the back seat. He mumbles a curse. “You’re bleeding.”
Panic taints his voice. Why? He kidnapped and took me to the middle of nowhere to be killed, and he’s upset because I’m bleeding?
He leans me up against the vehicle, and he touches my bicep. “Shit.” Turning me around, he releases my hands from the cuffs. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
My shoulders ache, but I move to inspect my wound. Still blindfolded, I run my fingers over the torn cotton shirt to the wet and ragged skin beneath. I wince and follow the trickle of blood that flows down to my wrist.
He fumbles with the tie at the back of my head. “Here, let me—
I slap his hand away, yelling get the fuck off me, but it’s all gibberish from behind my gag.
A growled sound of frustration reaches my ears at the same time his hands go back to my head. “Trust me, okay?”
Is he out of his fucking mind?
The gag is pulled free. I work my jaw back and forth to squelch the ache then move to pull free my blindfold.
“No.” His hands hold mine still. “Not yet.”
My arm stings as he wraps what I assume to be the gag around my wounded arm.
“There. Come on.” He grips my wrist and pulls me forward.
I take a few steps, cringing against the pain of jagged rocks beneath my feet. I stumble as something sharp pierces the ball of my foot. I hiss through my teeth and trip, but strong arms keep me from falling.
Another huff of frustration and I’m off the ground, pressed against a solid chest. The scent of leather and highway give Hatch away as he cradles me and moves with heavy steps. I try to reach down, to tuck the length of the T-shirt I’m wearing over my bare butt.
Hatch chuckles. “Don’t bother. Too dark to see shit out here.”
“Where are you taking me?” I don’t expect an answer, but I have to ask. At the very least I need to keep them talking.
“You’ll see soon enough.” His voice is cold, harder than I’m used to hearing; although everything about Hatch has changed.
Low murmurs of male voices prick my ears and send my pulse skyrocketing. More of them. A lot more of them.
I wiggle, fighting for Hatch to release me. I don’t care how much it hurts. I’ll run. They might shoot me in the back, but I have a feeling a quick death would be better than what they have planned.
“Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” I fight harder only to be locked down tightly to his chest.
“No way. I need this and”—he gets quiet, as if he’s struggling with what he’s about to say—“so do you.”
My mouth hangs open, prepared to launch at him for saying I need to be murdered, but before I can get the first word out, my feet are dropped to the warm desert floor.
He swings me around so that my back is to him, his hands placed firmly on my shoulders. Then he’s gone.
I sway, disoriented now that I don’t have something grounding me. I reach for my blindfold, knowing that if someone is close enough they’ll stop me, and if not, I’ll run.
Slowly, I peel back the fabric, and when no one stops me, I push it up to my forehead. Fuzzy silhouettes come into focus, and my eyes grow wide as fear chills my blood.
All men.
Some I recognize as Hatch’s crew, others I don’t. They’re all standing in a circle around me, each one with the stone-hard face of a killer. My pulse pounds in my neck, and my legs feel like they’re filled with concrete.
The ring of bodies parts to let through a man I don’t recognize. Overgrown dark brown